The Remnants
by Lilikoi2
Summary: Sophie and her elder sister move in with their estranged father Kevin. Struggling to raise a son on his own, and keep his business afloat, Kevin has enlisted the help of Sian, a beautiful, young housekeeper. That's when it starts to snow ...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

...

The stones are cold.

Heavy, she thinks.

She lifts each one and places them into the cardboard box so carefully it's as if she was afraid they will shatter. But how can they, she wonders, when they're stones – solid, dense, unbreakable. It makes sense, she thinks for a second, that her Mum should have turned to them, in all their reassuring permanence, when she was so close to death. She wonders how they could be on the same earth, be made of the same molecules, if hers were just going to collapse whilst the stones would endure even as the sea rubbed them into sand.

She runs the tips of her fingers along the bumpy ridge of the stone she is setting down – it feels like she is touching infinity.

She folds the wings of the box towards each other, sealing it shut. The stones sit quietly in their new darkness. 'That's everything,' she says, as if it was the last rite she had to perform in the old house.

Her sister looks up from the magazine she's reading, her finger pausing on a word mid-sentence. Sophie makes fun of the way she reads – tracing the words with her fingertips like a child learning. There was always something so child-like about Rosie. 'Thank god,' Rosie says, tosses the magazine to the sofa. 'What's that you've got there?' she asks, as something presses at the boundary of her vision, squints sceptically at the box that Sophie holds so close to her body.

'Just Mum's crystals,' she says with a slight shrug. The stones slide across the base of the box at the movement, as if aware they are being addressed.

'Oh.' Rosie's expression flits between confusion and loss for a few seconds, like the beginning of an old film reel. She hasn't thought about it for a while. 'Where did you get those?'

'From Dad,' Sophie answers, pulling the box tighter against her. 'He was just going to sell them anyway.'

A cynical breath puffs through Rosie's parted lips. 'He may as well have, all the good they did.'

A ghost of a frown at Rosie's words – her fingers grip tighter.

'They must be worth quite a bit actually,' Rosie muses, stretching her arms out to reach the box.

'No Rosie!' the box is snatched away, Sophie twisting to the side and clutching it to her chest so fast that the stones bounce off the inside walls and lid. 'We _can't _sell 'em.'

Rosie sighs. 'I _know_,' she says unconvincingly. 'I just wanted a look.'

Sophie raises an eyebrow, not relinquishing her grip.

'What makes you think Dad won't just try to sell them again anyway,' Rosie says, giving up and returning her attention to the discarded magazine, flopped open ungainly at a two-page spread about underwear.

''Cos he's probably forgotten about them,' Sophie answers simply, wonders what it's like to be able to.

Rosie's finger searches for its vacated place against the page.

A loud electronic buzz suddenly fills Sophie's ears and takes up residence in her head. It feels like it lasts forever, stops abruptly, goes on after it has stopped.

Rosie springs up from the sofa. 'He's here,' an unnecessary announcement. 'You got everything?'

Sophie nods dumbly and watches her sister negotiate the piles of boxes stacked next to the door before reaching for the handle and pressing it down. The door opens towards her.

A man stands outside. An old man, hunching his shoulders, peering beyond Rosie to the inside of the house. His hands are in his pockets and he smiles with an awkward tenderness at the girl who has come to greet him. 'You ready love?' The words sound strange, hang in the air longer than they should, resonating like the door bell before them.

'Yeah. C'mon Sophie,' Rosie throws over her shoulder as she steps out of the door.

Sophie looks at the man, and he stares right back at her. The moment stretches at its boundaries, straining at its designated parameters – a lack of invitation, a prolonged silence during which they can hear each other's breath.

Sophie sets the box down gingerly on the arm of the sofa before walking towards him. His brown eyes follow her every movement until she is stood directly in front of him. She steps down from the door to his level.

'Hi Dad,' she says quietly, opening her arms and sliding them around his waist. He wraps his own arms around her delicate shoulders, and Sophie feels his chest deflate as he exhales.

He smells like engine oil, just like he used to.

But Sophie pulls away just as his hands begin to rub up and down her back, feeling her for the first time in years. Her Dad's arms drop immediately back to his sides and his hands dash self-consciously back into their pockets. 'Let's get that stuff in the car then,' he suggests, nods his head towards the boxes. But before she can move he is saying 'Don't worry love,' stilling her, moving past her. 'I'll do it.'

Sophie looks at him. He looks so much older. His hair is greying above his ears, and his face is crumpled and unshaven. She can't remember the last time she'd seen him. Two years ago maybe? Or is it more? There must have been something, she thinks. Some family gathering that they'd both attended. Since the funeral of course.

He crouches down to pick up the first box and she turns to face outside again, notices Rosie has already strapped herself into the passenger seat of his car.

'Thanks for doing this Dad,' Sophie says, twisting her head to look at him.

'No problem,' his voice strains as he rises from bent knees, his fingertips white as they curl around the base of the box. 'Can't have you girls injurin' yourselves.'

'No ... I mean about ... lettin' me and Rosie stay,' she explains, her words sticky with embarrassment.

'It's honestly no problem Phee,' he uses her childhood name. She wasn't expecting it and she doesn't know how she feels about it. 'It'll be great to have you's two around,' he adds, stepping back outside and moving toward the car, legs bandy and brisk beneath the weight of the box.

Sophie trails after him, remembering the mix of nerves and excitement watching this process before from lower down, the stacking of buckets with spades, hats, sunglasses, the oily residue of sun cream on her pale skin, imagining all the shells she'd collect. But this time she is tall enough to open the car boot for him. Its hydraulic arms hiss as it springs open. 'Jack has been really excited about it ever since I told him,' he says, heaving the box into the boot and sliding it back to make more room.

'Great,' Sophie answers, pauses, bites lightly on one side of her bottom lip as she realises she doesn't even know how old Jack is. 'It'll be nice to spend some time with him,' she says.

Her Dad doesn't answer. He just collects more boxes from the house and stacks them into the car. It all fits in so neatly.

...


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the comments so far :)_

**Chapter 2**

...

The house is cold and clean. White walls with occasional narrow-framed art. The polished floor gleams dimly in the darkness of the hall. From the door she can see down the entire length of house, the hallway a spine that cuts through its volume. At the end of it a sunroom shines sharply like an approaching train.

Her Dad leaves the door open to unpack the car, and the spring creeps slowly into the air of the house – that warm smell that prickles the hairs of her arms with something other than cold. Optimistic dandelion seeds float casually into the hallway like jellyfish, hoping to collide with something useful.

Her bag is dropped heavily at her feet.

'Sorry,' her Dad says, as if the gesture wasn't meant to be so clumsy and aggressive. Rosie clacks noisily behind him on unnecessary heels. 'What a lovely house,' she is saying, her pupils adjusting to the lack of light, her fingers trailing lightly against the smooth whiteness of the walls.

Sophie says nothing, thinks it's almost ridiculous that they've never been here before, that everything is entirely new.

'I'm sorry you have to share a room,' her Dad says, inspecting the dirtiness of his fingernails. He looks up. 'I hope you don't fight like you used to.' There is a smile to accompany his words, as if they were spun with humour. But all Sophie feels is years. Empty years without him.

And Rosie has walked away, disinterested, into the nearest room.

Sophie hears voices and follows, while her Dad returns to his task.

'So you must be Sophie,' a girl says, warm words with a huge smile. She is sat on a chair slung away from the kitchen table, beautiful and blonde with strong hands restraining the tireless child that fidgets upon her knees.

'Yeah ... hi.'

The girl nods, adjusting Jack as he clambers about on her lap. 'I'm Sian,' she says. 'Me and Jack have been really looking forward to you coming here, haven't we?' she asks Jack, who seems delighted at being addressed. He giggles and pokes at Sian's face with a miniature, pointy finger.

Sophie watches, finds herself speaking. 'So ... are you, um ... what do you ...' tries to phrase her question.

'I look after Jack for Kev while he's at work,' Sian explains before Sophie can finish adjusting the syntax of her tactless question. She tilts her head to one side as she looks at Sophie.

'Oh right,' Sophie says in slow acknowledgement, looking at the way Jack curls his tiny fingers around Sian's. 'Do you live here?'

Sian laughs. 'It feels like that sometimes,' she answers, a smile forming around her words. She shakes her head as Sophie's stare doesn't stop. 'No I don't,' she admits. 'I just stay over sometimes if Kev needs me.'

Sophie connects the information together in her head, stares at the new humans in front of her. She stares like the first time a tourist sees the city they've always dreamed of visiting – wondering if it's how they imagined it, because now the reality has usurped the vision. Sian couldn't be any older than her. Could her Dad be seeing someone _her_ age? Is that what he wanted? Is that why he didn't want her Mum?

Sian's smile fades rapidly at Sophie's silence, as if it was sliding from her face. 'Are you okay?' she asks tentatively.

'I'm fine,' Sophie answers quickly, and, clearing her throat, 'I guess now me and Rosie are here my dad won't need you stayin' over as much,' she says, the first thought that manages to fall gracelessly from the jumble she's created.

And Sian smiles vanishes completely, her face a void of negative space. 'I hadn't really thought about that,' she says.

'Something to think about maybe,' Sophie makes no effort to cover the hostility she feels in her throat.

'What you on about Soph?' Rosie asks, silent until now. 'It'll be great to have another girl around,' she looks from Jack to Sian.

'Er hello? _I'm _a girl you know,' Sophie reminds her sister.

Rosie scrunches her nose. 'Don't take this the wrong way Soph,' she offers, 'but you're not exactly feminine. I need someone I can swap fashion tips with.'

Scowls and folded arms are all Sophie can manage until: 'There's more to life than clothes, Rosie,' she tells her, a refrain she so often falls back on.

'You see,' Rosie points accusatorily at her sister, 'this is _exactly_ why I can't talk to you about fashion.'

Sophie rolls her eyes, but her gaze lands on Sian who stares at her with a peculiar smile. Suddenly very self-conscious, Sophie pulls her cardigan tight across her chest and looks down at the scuffed toes of her trainers that look decrepit and dirty in the clean house.

'So what do you do, Sophie? When you're not busy _not_ talking about fashion?' Sian's question is full of mischievous charm, that wide smile back to accompany it. 'Are you at university?'

Sophie shakes her head, long brown hair brushing against her shoulders. Even the simplest words don't seem to come to her.

'Sophie's allergic to standardised education,' Rosie speaks for her. 'She's well clever though – ask her a maths question.'

Sian bites a pink, plump lip as her eyes focus on the ceiling, 'Twelve times eighteen.'

Silence follows as Sophie glares through narrowed eyes at Rosie.

'Nevermind,' an awkward shake of laughter ripples through Sian's words, 'I have a calculator.'

'See Soph, you're already obsolete,' Rosie laughs away the tension emanating from Sophie's hunched form.

Sophie continues to hunch because she can feel Sian's eyes on her, and she clenches her fists tighter into the material of her clothes and tries to fold herself away from the stare. She is almost relieved when her Dad walks into the room.

'That's all your stuff moved in then,' he says, his eyes focused on Sophie even as Jack gurgles for his attention and his hands clutch at the air.

Sophie looks at Jack, the way he strains from Sian's embrace. His wide trusting eyes roll around, scanning the room, intermittently blinking his long, dark eyelashes. Sophie feels sorry for him, with all his innocence, born into all this mess – all this bad feeling, all these suppressed years of unhappiness. She wonders if people should be allowed to have children without undergoing extensive testing that they can provide happy, stable lives, to avoid irreparably damaging the humans they create just by existing alongside them.

'Jack,' Sian mutters tiredly under her breath, trying to reposition him as he struggles.

Sophie watches Sian's hands. Soft and pale as they grip around Jack's writhing body, taut with strong tendons that flex beneath her skin.

'Anyway,' Kevin says, glancing briefly at Jack before looking back to Sophie. 'I'll be gettin' back to the garage,' he sniffs noisily, wiping his hairy hand beneath his nose. Sophie can hear his stubble grating against his knuckles. 'Make yourselves at home, yeah?'

'Wait ... Dad,' Rosie's voice follows Kevin out of the room and she dashes after him into the light of the driveway.

Sophie and Sian are left alone with Jack, whose large eyes are beginning to shimmer with the approach of tears.

'No baby, don't,' Sian insists pre-emptively, clutching the back of the child's head and pushing it against her chest.

'What's wrong with him?' Sophie asks, watching the strange display of tenderness, wondering how Sian can care so much for a child that isn't hers – her Mum certainly never could.

'He just misses his Dad,' Sian says, bobbing Jack gently with her knees. 'He's um ...' Sian looks up, like she's suddenly mistrustful of Sophie, 'he's not around much,' she admits.

'No?' Sophie asks, edging closer to the table, like she has been intrigued by a secret.

'Sometimes I think ...' Sian begins, but shakes her head after those three words. 'Never mind,' she decides. You don't want to hear about it,' she's certain.

'No go on,' Sophie feels her hostility softening, like a rigidity insider her is being heated and melting.

'It's just ... sometimes I think if Kevin was around more ... Jack would've started talking by now.' Sian's words are quiet, contrasting the confidence of character she displayed just minutes earlier.

'He hasn't started talking yet?' Sophie asks, frowning at the back of the child's head. 'How old is he?'

'Two and a half,' Sian answers, stroking her hand through his dark-blonde hair.

Sophie is quiet then, looks at Sian, bites at her lip, hears her Dad and Rosie talking outside.

'Two-hundred and sixteen,' she says, eventually.

Sian looks up quizzically, shaking her head slightly to flick the hair from her eyes as they make contact with Sophie's.

'Twelve times eighteen,' Sophie explains with a very small smile, which Sian returns.

...


End file.
